#last year i drew him drinking tea through his helmet so this year he gets to play guitar while wearing big gloves

[spiderziege]

Hermit a Day May 2 - Xisuma

i like drawing him cause i dont really like drawing faces

[spicycreativity]

Howl - Ch 2

Chapter: 2/10

Add'l Notes: As usual, fic is like 6 chapters ahead on my AO3, WizardGlick

Chapter Content Warnings: N/A, ask to tag

Trying a new thing where I force you to read the first paragraph by not including it under the cut 😇

--

Virgil slept soundly and woke up unharmed in his bed. The relative cold of the morning air bit into his face, the only part of him that wasn't buried under his duvet. Still laying down, he wriggled into his hoodie and got up to make coffee. He mentally checked himself over while he waited for it to brew, staring blankly at the French press with stinging eyes. Damn, he must not have gotten all his vampire makeup off. Ah, well. His own absentmindedness was not a curse. Maybe he had escaped unscathed. Nothing hurt, save a normal soreness in his legs from standing around watching the Halloween parade, and a quick look in one of the many ornate mirrors decorating his walls revealed nothing abnormal with his face (well, except for the smudgy remnants of last night's eyeliner).

Despite this reassuring examination, he still spent the morning jumping at shadows. He rode his moped extra slowly and took time adjusting the straps of his helmet to make sure it fit perfectly. He examined the hanging sign ("Mystick Earth: ephemera for all ages") outside his workplace to make sure it wouldn't fall and kill him. He even took high steps on his way to the register to make sure he wouldn't trip over anything unseen.

But nothing bad happened.

In fact, nothing much happened at all until just past noon, when the brass bells on the door jangled and Logan stepped in, wafting the smell of warm bread and something sweet in with him.

Virgil didn't even realize he was smiling until his cheeks began to ache. "Hi," he said.

"Hello, Virgil." Logan wasn't looking at him; he was focusing on the paper bag hooked around one wrist and the drink carrier balanced in his other arm. "Forgive me for not asking first, but I wanted to surprise you."

"Here, you can set that on the counter." Virgil already knew what Logan had brought: banh mi, pho, and bubble tea from Sunrise, Virgil's favorite café.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Virgil pressed his hands on the counter and levered himself up to give Logan a kiss. He had always known that Logan was courteous and sweet under that somewhat stiff exterior; this wasn't even the first time he had done something kind for Virgil out of nowhere. But Virgil never could get used to being doted on. "Thank you, Logan."

Logan dropped his gaze, one hand coming up to fidget with his tie. "You're quite welcome."

The bells chimed again. Virgil looked up and caught sight of Roman, who had frozen in place. Catching Virgil's gaze, he straightened as though offended. "Well," he said, "I just came by to make sure Count Virgila survived the night, but it looks as though Casanova here beat me to the punch."

Logan turned. "Roman. I hope you've already eaten, because I only brought enough food for two people."

"I can take a hint," Roman said. Virgil raised his eyebrows at him expectantly, but Roman only raised his own eyebrows back, strode over to the counter, and stole a sip of Virgil's milk tea.

"I thought you said you could take a hint," Virgil said.

"I can," Roman said, "but I'm choosing not to."

Logan sighed through his nose and passed Virgil his sandwich. "I see no need to insist upon politeness if Roman is not going to return the favor."

Roman bumped Logan with his hip. "Really, I just came by to make sure Virgil's okay "

The bells jangled. Virgil looked up again, half-surprised and half-annoyed to see Janus, clad in the extravagant tailcoat he had to wear for work, pretending rather transparently to examine the display of tarot card-themed posters by the door. "Hi, Janus," he said, making no effort to hide his annoyance. Maybe this was the curse, to never get any alone time with Logan.

"Let me guess," said Roman, "you're here to check on Virgil."

"Of course not," Janus said, now pawing through the discount t-shirt display. Ugh, Virgil had just finished re-folding those. "Virgil's a big boy; he knows how to handle himself."

"Oh, yeah?" Virgil raised an eyebrow. "For all the money in the register, tell me what you came to buy and what you plan to use it for."

For the brief moment that Janus hesitated, Virgil allowed himself to hope that he had gotten one over on Janus. In all their years of friendship, he had admitted to being wrong exactly once. Virgil kept the date saved in his phone calendar and made sure to send Janus a card on the anniversary. But a moment's hesitation was all the satisfaction he got this time; Janus faced him properly, adjusted his tie, and said, "I don't know. I'm looking for a gift for Remus."

"Nice save," Virgil said. "We'll see about that."

"Oh, I don't know why you bother trying to hide it." Roman beckoned Janus over to the counter. "Look with your own eyes: he's fine."

"I combined like five different rituals last night," Virgil said. "And I'm doing another one once I get off work." He had already paid for the bottle and the string, knowing he had a hand trowel somewhere in the depths of his spider-infested shed.

Roman quick-drew his phone from his pocket and had himself posed for a selfie with Virgil almost before Virgil could process what was happening. "Smile," he said. "Patton made me promise I'd send him a picture."

Virgil flashed a peace sign. It was better to just go with it. Despite his bravado, Roman got his feelings hurt easily, and it was never fun to try to bounce back from that. "Are we done now?"

"Pardon us for caring about you," Roman said, sticking his nose into the air. It was such a Remus thing to do that Virgil nearly laughed, but he managed to hold himself together.

"Yeah, yeah, my friends love and cherish me, blah, blah, blah."

"Also," Roman read from his phone, "Patton says to tell Janus to come over soon so they can make cutting boards together."

"He was serious about that?" Janus looked helplessly at Virgil. Ah, yes, Patton had made the invitation last night and Janus, leaning back on social niceties, had agreed. "I thought he was just being nice."

"Nope." Virgil leaned forward across the counter and grinned. "Not only is Patton gonna make you make yourself a cutting board, you're going to enjoy it."

"We'll see about that," Janus said. He shook up his sleeve so he could glance at his watch. "Well, I should get back to Bienvenue. Those suits won't sell themselves."

He turned on his heel and made for the door so quickly that Virgil knew he was forgetting something. Ding. "Wait, but weren't you going to buy something for Remus?" he called.

"Sorry," said Janus, one hand already on the door. "Can't hear you, bye." And he was gone.

Roman bounced on his toes. "Alright, alright, I'll leave you two to it, too."

"Thank you kindly," Virgil said, metering the sardonic bite in his tone so that Roman wouldn't get offended.

Roman tipped an imaginary hat first to Virgil, then to Logan, and sauntered out.

"Finally," Virgil sighed. He looked up to find Logan staring at him with evident concern. "What?"

"Are you alright?" Logan asked. "I know you take this kind of thing seriously and I would hate for you to feel like I'm not supporting you just because I don't share your belief."

Virgil couldn't help but smile as an unfamiliar feeling spread from his stomach to his chest. Ah, the warm fuzzies. He couldn't even be mad about the damage to his dark and brooding image. "I'm okay, Lo. I did my stuff."

Logan smiled back: a small, shy thing. "I'm glad."

They were quiet for a moment. Virgil took small bites of his banh mi, careful to keep one eye on the door. It had been an unusually slow day, especially given that it was the day after Halloween. The denizens of Vaillant were superstitious enough that Virgil was rarely idle behind the counter of Mystick Earth. A few groups of people paused by the door, some even going so far as to peer in through the glass storefront windows, but no one came in. Virgil relaxed a little. "How's work? Catch anyone embezzling?"

"Not yet," Logan said, pushing his sleeves further up his elbows. Virgil tried not to stare at the few additional centimeters of skin this action exposed. What was he, a repressed Victorian? "I did notice a discrepancy in the amount we spent on office supplies, but it was only because someone had miswritten a 'seven' as a 'two.'"

"No office drama?" Virgil ribbed him. "Nobody stealing pens or making out in supply closets?"

"Unfortunately, we are a building of professionals." Logan paused, straightened his tie. "The light above my cubicle went out and I had to put in an email to maintenance to get it fixed."

"Man, I could never work in an office," Virgil said.

"Did anything interesting happen to you this morning?"

"Eh, I had someone looking to curse an ex, and I had to explain why that's not acceptable. I won't bore you with the details." Virgil took another bite of his sandwich and bounced the toe of his shoe against the floor. Was he doing this right? It had been so long since his last real relationship, and everyone knew what a disaster that had been. He liked Logan, liked being with Logan, but… Well, maybe he was freaking out over nothing. He just had to remember how to do it right, and then everything would be okay.

"Ordinarily, I would challenge the notion that you could ever bore me," Logan said, "but I do have to leave soon."

"Finish your pho," Virgil said, smiling. "I can tell you later."

They finished eating and Virgil again leaned up to give Logan a kiss, balancing his weight on his hands. His heart wasn't in it, his brain a few seconds ahead. Should he come over the counter and walk Logan to the door? What should he say? ‘I love you’? Should he grab Logan's ass?

"Did you hear me?" Logan asked.

Virgil feet hit the floor, the impact driving tingles up to his knees. "Huh?"

"Just saying goodbye," Logan said.

"See you soon?"

"Let's make plans."

Logan left. Virgil stared at the door for a while, happiness ebbing away into loneliness and doubt. A small, childish part of him wanted to insist that Logan stay. Forget work. They could go to the movies and get ice cream, have a proper date. And Virgil would find some way to communicate just how much he appreciated Logan.

--

Virgil: Thanks for lunch, Lo

Logan: You're welcome

Logan: <3

Virgil hadn't gathered up the guts to respond to Logan's text message yet. It was really pathetic, how a single emoticon heart had him blushing and panicking like a teenager.

He swung one leg over his moped, but kept his weight mostly on the ground. Hating the way his heart pounded, he pulled out his phone.

Logan: <3

Virgil: <3

Before he could freak himself out any further, Virgil got on his moped properly and nearly peeled out of his parking spot. He rode home in silence, shivering a little in the wind chill and dodging potholes.

The sinking sun lit up the thunderheads on the horizon until the whole sky on Virgil's left was blue-gray and luminescent. He stared, admiring the bald cypress and tupelo trees silhouetted against the dying light, until the road turned and faced him toward the darkness. By the time he got home, it was full dark. He parked his moped in the carport and settled in for a lonely evening of curse-breaking.

Virgil wasn't usually lonely. As an introvert with several boisterous extroverts in his friend circle, he usually jumped at the chance for some alone time. But suddenly Logan's absence felt like loss in a way it never had before, and Virgil longed to have him near. Even if he just sat quietly and watched while Virgil put his own spin on constructing a witch bottle.

He went to bed early that night, earlier than usual, unable to stand the emptiness of his old house. Even the creaks and groans, even the ambient sounds of outside, even the ticking of his mantle clock, seemed to fade away into intolerable lonely silence. So Virgil crawled into bed before midnight, clutching his hoodie to his chest.

He didn't sleep well.

Strange visions haunted his dreams, almost primal in their intensity. He was rage, he was fear, he was power. He knew the earth beneath his feet, knew the deep, rich smells of the forest. He knew the moon above. It was bright but waning, pale silver struggling through the clouds that smelled of rain. So unlike Virgil, whose strength was eternal and agonizing and all. He howled.

He woke up all at once, all his senses alight. Even without opening his eyes, it was obvious: He was outside. Not only that, he was naked in the dirt.

He opened his eyes and rolled over, sitting up slowly to examine himself. Clammy soil clung to his exposed skin. He brushed it off with a shaking hand. His nails were stained with it too, all muddy and broken. And he was sore, almost as bad as the time he'd try to go jogging with Logan.

Virgil let the panic wash over him and pulled his legs in close to his chest, wrapped his arms around them. Wrong, wrong, wrong, he had nothing, knew nothing and he was all alone in the woods.

He crested the worst of the attack and clenched his trembling hands into fists, resentful of the adrenaline still ruling him. At least he seemed unharmed; his skin was free of bruises and scratches. He was just dirty. He raised a shaking hand to his left ear, feeling along the back of it for any strange marks. Finding nothing, he checked his right ear. The skin seemed wholly undisturbed, but he would see about that later. Right now, he had more pressing things to worry about than potential alien abduction. For one, there was the matter of his clothes… He got to his feet, covering his groin with his hands despite the solitude. All that surrounded him were the early-morning birdsong and the rustle of the wind in the leaves.

Spinning in a circle, Virgil found a place where branches had been broken and the underbrush had been thoroughly trampled by something much, much bigger than he. With no other leads, he steeled himself and followed the trail. It was difficult going. He had to keep his head down to make sure he didn’t step on anything sharp, and his heartbeat remained sharp and painful and panicked, beating out what-ifs beneath his skin. What if he couldn’t find his way home? What if he got arrested for public nudity? What if he tripped and broke his leg and got stranded? What if something attacked him?

The morning breeze picked up and made him shiver, drawing him out of his panicked thoughts. He just needed to keep walking. He might not even have been that far from home. He lived on the edge of the woods, so it made sense that he was within walking distance of home, right? Well, maybe not, but the belief was all he had. So he believed that he was close to home, believed that he would be fine, and continued to tread the path of destruction through the woods.

He was closer than he’d thought. Soon, the sound of tires over asphalt reached his ears and he picked up the pace. Crossing the road was a nerve-wracking endeavor, not least because the speed limit was 55 mph. He hadn’t seen any of his clothes on the trek. What would people say if they caught him darting naked across the road like some kind of feral mountain man? Traffic was sparse, it was true, but with Virgil’s luck, a pickup full of country boys would plow into him and leave him in the ditch. What a pleasant thought for a Friday morning. Pushing his fear aside, Virgil sprinted across the road as fast as his abused feet and sore muscles would let him. The trail of trampled bushes and broken branches led directly to his house, as he had feared it might, and the destruction didn’t stop there. His front door was open, bugs buzzing around the light over his kitchen sink. Several of his end tables had been knocked over and various trinkets from his many floating shelves littered the floor. His ceramic incense holder lay in pieces by the magazine rack filled with his collection of old tabloids-- the tabloids were okay, thank goodness.

“Hello?” Virgil called. No one answered, and the house was silent. He crept into the bedroom. Ah, there were his clothes. The t-shirt he slept in had split at the seams and his boxers hadn’t fared much better. At least his hoodie was okay. He pulled it on and slipped into a new pair of boxers, exhaustion finally catching up with him. He needed to deal with this, like, really needed to deal with this, but his bed…

He face-planted into it, not even bothering to straighten out or pull his legs onto the mattress. Sleep now, unpack terrifying potential supernatural encounter later.

[bioticgoddess]

Of The Voide (#2 - an original work)

Here ya go. The next installment of the Of the Voide Story. Like I said, it’s an original work. So don’t steal my stuff but you’re welcome to share. :)

Please enjoy!

The Seti’Veth System: Cor’seti Station

The space station orbiting the planet Cor’seti was always a questionable decision. It wasn’t really neutral territory, being well within the jurisdiction of the Coalition, but they didn’t exactly police it. Meant that people like the crew of the Ashewake could dock and resupply. Right now, they needed the rest. The Krimmoran contract had been a bust and then they’d had to deposit the younger Voidekeine girl back with the flotilla. Her field tour ended early, much to her temporary shipmate’s relief.

Seated at the bar, black and blue hair pulled off her face in a series of braids, Zaffre Branwen took another swig from the mug. At least they’d had Corinthian Red Tea - most folks mistook it for brandy or some kind of whiskey until they tried to steal a swig, then they got trouble. Which was exactly the last thing she needed. Her base tint alabaster-gray skin was covered in what looked like paint splatter marks of black and a darker blue-gray. Terrans might have said she looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. Others would have wondered when last she’d bathed. It was the usual variance of bullshit levied at all  Voidekeine. They were all as spotted and splattered as she was, though that alabaster base color could be as black as ebony - like her co-pilot and engineer Tagetes. His spotting was mostly shades of lighter grays.

He’d known the woman for decades, since they were kids using repair mechs to sneak from their assigned frigates to the Ag-ships to beg for cocoa pods so they could harvest the chocolate from within the fruit. He’d stowed away on her little transport ship one year when she’d swung through the Flotilla to drop off some supplies she’d been asked to ferry home between Contracts. Had they not been acquainted all those years, it was a near guarantee she’d have wasted the ammunition and escape pod necessary to send his ass right back home.  

“Alright Boss,” he stood behind the black and blue-haired woman. “We got watchers,” he whispered, the blue portion of her long hair brushing his hand as he put it against her back.  It was well rehearsed theater to make onlookers believe they were about to flit off for a lover’s tryst. 

He stood a full foot taller than she was and his proportions were emphasized by his armored vacsuit. He wasn’t comically large - though on the taler and broader side for their species, he couldn’t compare to the Krimmora or the Omari (an amphibious, crocodilian  race) or any of the other more massive denizens of the galaxy.  But he had a winning smile that, despite being a Voidekeine, disarmed everyone. Casually he raked a hand through his short mop of silver and pink  curls. The turn of his head towards the corner table indicated the direction of their new admirers. 

Sighing, she downed the remaining tea in one long slow draw and signaled the bartender to come over. “Vaun, can I get a couple canisters to go,” she pointed to her now empty drink, “And wrap up those meals too?”

Behind the bar, a tall red-skinned Corinthian gave a subtle nod, the same one he gave when a customer entered or paid their tab or tipped well. It was neutral but the affirming wink he tossed to the woman was emphatic. Vaun himself rose a full head taller than Tagetes when he rolled his shoulder and spine up and revealed his full stature. But he was spindly, the result of spending his youth in Corinthus-3’s low gravity. Like it’s sibling moons, Corinthus-3 was a mining concern and major source of metals and metalloids. Corinthus Rex, the heavy-gravity world around which the lunar system orbited, gave rise to a much stockier offshoot of their species and was, by all accounts, a more diverse and lush ecosystem. 

Most only bothered to visit the moons as they lacked the bone density, muscle, and cardiovascular development necessary to handle the central world’s gravity. Much like the Security vacsuit wearing group watching the two Voidekeine. 

Though to call the organization “security” on Cor’Seti Station was a joke. At best, they were thugs pretending they had the authority of the system behind them. At worst a cartel that the Coalition - who’s giant war ships were currently in orbit around the station - ignored because it meant that they didn’t have to actually police the station. They could focus on the parliamentary conquest and assimilation of the Seti’Veth System. 

“Auck’ver’im,” Vaun’s lips barely moved as he set the pack insert filled with her requisition down on the counter. “Crell’mey’rah.”

“Universal translator seems broken,” Zaffre tapped the small, hexagonal chip icon painted on her suit’s armored breast-plate. “But I got ya.” Index and forefinger pressed together, she saluted him with her left hand. 

Tagetes had taken the moment to put the oddly heavy pack in his rucksack. He knew they were lying about the translation device being offline. Despite his accent, when both Zaffre and he spoke he’d heard Universal Common and not Flotillaspeka. The Corinthian’s change to his native tongue had been deliberate. “You get enough tea,” he chided, his glance at Zaffre a cover to watch as the men sitting at the shadowed table rose to follow them. They certainly weren’t being subtle. “Wanna help me carry this stuff?”

Hands on her hips, close to the blaster pistols and the clip keeping her helmet in place, she shrugged. “Nah, you got this Tag,” rolling her head and stretching her neck, she took advantage of the reflection off one of the other shop windows to get a better look at their new friends. One was tall, full gear, possibly a Coalitioner. He didn’t look like he’d come off some broken down frigate or was born on a station. Nope, shoulders were too square and he moved through the crowd like he everyone owed him. The two on his flanks she wasn’t sure about. They could have been Coalition or natives, if the latter was true then they’d been hired. Probably sold out to one of the big Capital ships monitoring the station approach. “Any ideas why we’re so popular?”

“You did snipe that last target,” her silver and pink haired companion suggested. His free hand absently coming to rest on his own blaster as they took the turn leading to the docs. It would be longer this way; going through the slums meant they’d be more likely to disappear in the crowd. Their gear was carbon-scorred and pock marked with years of fire fights and falling from too-high up when a jetpack’s booster failed.

It was a slow trek.

The pair took turns taking covert glances in reflective surfaces to track their shadows, going down a dozen alley-like maintenance corridors, or through doors between bulkheads that shouldn’t have existed. They managed to lose their unexpected attachments as a result of going through the twist and turns of the station’s slum. They cut down through the old maintenance shafts and ladders instead of hopping on the lifts. It was like being home in the Flotilla, the way the station creaked and groaned with the artificial gravity generators and the air cyclers. If it was quiet, they knew something could be catastrophically wrong. The Voidekeine had grown accustomed to living in an environment that hummed with the lives of people and machines. To ask them, either might have said that ships and space stations had souls of their own because of the care put into building and maintaining them. 

Their peaceful walk didn’t last long. 

The three thugs, the likely Coalitioner at the forefront, barred their access to the Ashewake. Zaffre grumbled under her breath, “Fuck.” 

“Zaffre Branwen, Tagetes Patch, you’re a long way from the Flotilla.” Definitely Coalition. His accent was sterile and his words clipped short like the hair he probably had shaved stupidly close to his head under the polished helmet. Neither of them had clocked how clean he looked. 

Brow cocked, she asked in her own clipped speech, “We are on business. My logs are in order.”

“It’s Coalition Senior Inspector or Sir to you, and I do see that,” He grinned slightly, withdrawing a data pad from behind him. One of the hunched shouldered men behind him had had it. “Do you know why I wished to speak with you,” he asked, his tone making the hackles on her black and gray freckled neck stand up.

Shaking her head, Zaffre answered carefully, taking a step forward so she was between Tagetes and the Coaltion man. “‘Fraid I don’t. Sir.” There was no difference in her voice but the man couldn’t say she was being sarcastic. Not that he probably even knew what sarcasm was. 

“Your impulse thrusters,” he grinned like he’d caught her in a trap.

“You mean the one that’s been sputtering? Sir? Yes. Got the credits needed to pay for repairs on my last job...sir,” she nodded, moving her hands like she was doing the math on her fingers. 

Behind his helmet, it was a certainty the Coalitioner was seething. It bled into his careful words, “Good. You’ll be taking it to the ship yards then.” It was an instruction not a question and an assumption she was going to be using Galactic Coalition shipyard The sharpness of his words and precision of his posture broadcast that opinion.

“Yes. Sir,” carefully she moved her hands from near her blasters, last thing they needed was a firefight so near an airlock. Not that she wouldn’t put the lot of them down if they drew on her and Tagetes. Would be the principle and within her rights by every regulation and law she could think of for more than one system and the Flotilla. But this stop wasn’t actually about a busted up and overused thruster. No. This was about making sure they knew that he knew who they were and that the Coalition likely knew too.  “We were going to head for there at 0800 local time. Sir.”

The next several minutes were long. He stared them down, probably taking an inventory of their weapons and both were sure he was about to ask them to strip off the armor plating from their vacsuits and relinquish their weapons for inspection. That he’d detain them for long enough to put them behind whatever schedule her answer put in his head. “Good evening then,” he said suddenly, marching past and making sure to shove Zaffre with his shoulder on the way. 

The two men who shadowed him slinked behind, both keeping distance from the Voidekeine who watched until they were out of sight and the airlock door hissed closed behind them. Like a pair of synchronized binary stars, they slammed their helmets on as a precaution. 

First rule of dealing with an self important prick like the Coalitioner - always presume being spaced or left in a depressurized hold is possible. A glance at the computer interface mounted on her left gauntlet confirmed the ship was still there. The Ashewake hadn’t been impounded or vaporized - thank the Makers. It didn’t mean, however, that they could relax.

Tagetes punched in the command and security codes that opened the airlocks leading to their ship and brought her to life. Voice like rocks through a tumbler, he warned, “We better get the hells out of here.”

“I want this to be a speck on radar in the next thirty minutes,” she concurred, her own voice modulated through the helmet. “We can inventory Vaun’s things in FTL. I don’t wanna be around when The Inspector,” her turned mocking for just a moment before she continued towards the cockpit, “gets that Capital ship or the Seti’Veth Primus to authorize a search and seizure warrant.”

“Agreed,” he was through the doors and hooking the duffel to a wall. In the low gravity, it was easy to put it in the netting with another half dozen or so similar black and gray bags. All but one was marked with the symbol for P3Y-722; the Eck’Ra Home world. 

Over the ship’s intercom, she smiled, “Next stop on our grand galactic cruise, the sunny breaches of P3Y-722. Or as the locals call it Ori Velar.”

[exyghouls]

secret santa time!

this is my TFC-Net Secret Santa post for @julianlavelle!! merry christmas!!

on ao3

-

Christmas had never been something that Neil had really experienced. For a while he felt no desire to take part, but being around his family as they prepared for the holiday season piqued his interest.

“Andrew,” he asked on the roof the night after their last finals, “do you want to do Christmas this year?”

He looked over lazily, smoke drifting from his mouth. It came out in a puff when he replied, “Do you want to?”

Neil shrugged, feeling sheepish at best. He took the cigarette from Andrew and took a short drag before handing it back. “I guess I want to try. Who knows, maybe I’ll hate it.” He kicked his feet over the edge of the roof and leaned against Andrew with a sigh.

i. 2007

Andrew had never exactly liked Christmas. He liked being able to disappear without his foster parents getting calls that he skipped class. He liked that he could shovel the driveway without the possibility of missing the bus. Later though, it became a nuisance.

Nicky had been big on Christmas when Andrew and Aaron had first moved in with him. The first year, he told them they wouldn’t be doing present exchanges but used some of his savings to decorate and cook a big dinner. Aaron was mortified by the amount of effort he had put in but Andrew was unaffected. They didn’t do as big of a celebration the following years, but Nicky always liked to do something.

If Neil wanted to do something, he could arrange that. Christmas was a bullshit holiday with bullshit intentions, but he could give Neil a couple gifts and get cinnamon rolls for breakfast or something.

Only a couple freshmen stayed behind for the break. Neil stuck back too with the intent to keep an eye on them, but he and Andrew went to Columbia on the 24th and left the kids to Abby.

They went shopping before going to the house. The first stop was to a department store, much to Neil’s apparent confusion.

“I thought that when you said shopping you meant for food and liquor,” he said.

“We’ll get to that,” Andrew waved off as he led them to the PJ section in the back corner. He motioned to the racks and shelves they stood between. “Pick some pajamas.”

Neil cocked his head to the side. “What about you?”

“Pick mine too.” Andrew was thoroughly bored with Neil’s ignorance. “Santa, elves, reindeer. Christmas shit, yes?”

He smiled, just a little, and went about trying to find anything in a small. All they had left on Christmas Eve was extra small and double X’s, but he managed to find plaid pants, one pair in red and the other in green, and matching shirts with penguins and lights, respectively.

Food shopping was easier, though Andrew was remembering all of Nicky’s past attempts to make a holiday meal. He was a decent cook but the man was no good under pressure.

Something about the disgusting amount of domesticity must have amused Neil, because he broke into a smile and looked at Andrew like he had put each star in the sky.

“What?”

Neil paused for a moment, smile not faltering. “Nothing.”

He snorted a little. “Nothing.”

Neil swayed to nudge him as they walked out of the store with their bags, that small smile still on his face.

This makes Neil happy, Andrew noted, keeping it in the back of his head.

ii. 2007

Once they got back to the house, Neil helped with putting all the groceries away before vanishing into Andrew’s--their--bedroom to put on his new pajamas.

He walked out in red pants and the penguin shirt, looking half giddy. He pulled out a baking sheet and preheated the oven while Andrew poured them drinks. He put premade cookie dough on the sheet in chunks, standing hip to hip with him. Neil bumped into his side and put the cookies into the oven. Not wanting to waste time, Andrew set the timer before crowding him against the counter.

“Yes or no?”

Neil jumped up to sit on the counter beside the oven and leaned down. “Yes.” He took the initiative to kiss Andrew, keeping his hands to his hair.

They got interrupted sooner than they ought to have been by the timer. Neil moved away and took out the cookies, busying himself getting a plate and searching for a spatula. Andrew stood patiently to the side, taking long sips of his drink. He made them weak.

It was ambient once they were in the living room with cookies and some channel marathoning Christmas movies. Andrew let Neil swing his legs onto his lap and lay against him at the same time, curling around him.

Andrew refused to let his heart race. He refused to acknowledge how cute Neil was like this, how happy silly shit like pajamas and cookies made from premade dough made him.

iii. 2008

Neil broke out the pajamas they had gotten last year. He wore the pants on occasion, but the rest of the set stayed shoved into the back of Andrew’s drawer.

Nicky insisted on having a Christmas dinner with the Foxes. The girls had graduated and it hit him harder than usual when he realized that family dinner no longer included them. They were always family, but it was harder for them to all be a part of it. Renee hadn’t had the room in her schedule, Allison had last minute company obligations, and Dan’s flight got snowed in.

They had managed to slip away without a trace. They drank and blew smoke out the bedroom window and locked out the rest of the Foxes.

Neil wanted this. He wanted to feel giddy off witty comebacks that Andrew shot at him, wanted to feel warm and then burning hot as Andrew brushed lips over his.

His mood worsened again when he came to the violent, sudden realization that he only had one of these left with Andrew before they graduated.

“Is it no?” Andrew asked, pulling away as soon as Neil tensed.

“It’s still yes,” he said, but the unsure tone made Andrew shoot him a questioning look. “Just thinking about how many holidays we have left. I think I’m starting to like Christmas, if only for the culture. Just thinking about how we won’t have many more like this.”

Andrew hummed and kissed him once, quickly. It stopped him from rambling, if anything. “They’ll be better when we have our own place and no noisy jolly fuckers around to ruin the night.”

He couldn’t help smiling at the implication. Neil reached up to pull him in for a kiss, tasting the future, tasting hope, tasting better things to come.

Neil liked the new feeling that replaced the cold, replaced the winter, replaced the holidays. He couldn’t stop thinking, our own place. It was a mantra, a pick-me-up, a promise. Even if Andrew dismissed any implication, it felt amazing.

iv. 2010

Andrew wasn’t coming to Palmetto during break. All new players were to stay for extra practice, orders of the captain. Neil figured, he would stay on campus too, taking care of the kids who couldn’t go home. He was the only fifth year senior and the team captain, even though Kevin came to practice over break because the Florida team wasn’t making new players give up their Christmas.

Robin stayed by Neil’s side for most of the break. She had stuck to Andrew like glue the year before--that is, once she realized he wasn’t going to kill her.

Just before noon on Christmas Eve, Neil and Robin were sitting in the corner of Abby’s living room, drinking coffee and hot chocolate respectively. The other kids were dispersed through the house or on the court for a Kevin-ordered conditioning. A sophomore striker was out for the first half of the semester for a broken wrist and still couldn’t get her throw right, so Kevin was helping her to switch hands.

He got a text from one of the freshmen that he was being asked for on court without specification. He showed Robin and she shrugged, getting up to follow him to the car.

When they walked into the stands, Neil saw Kevin instructing the sophomore on how to angle so he could make it past the goalie. Neil couldn’t see his face, covered by a helmet, and he was wearing light padding, but Neil’s heart nearly stopped when he realized that Andrew was standing in the goal.

Neil raced down the stands and Robin trailed behind. Another player on the court who was doing footwork saw him and unbolted the door--a freshman, the only one that year.

Andrew noticed too. He called off Kevin and dropped his stick in time for Neil to half-tackle him in a hug.

“You left Chicago?” Neil asked after thinking about who’s around. The only one who didn’t know about them was the freshman, but Neil didn’t give a damn.

“Yeah, I’m here to see Kevin,” he drawled.

He drew back from the hug. “Yes or no, Andrew?”

“Yes, idiot.”

Neil pulled off his helmet, holding it at his side as he kissed Andrew, not minding the sweat. They were interrupted when a ball was shot at their feet. Robin stood at mid court, handing Kevin back his stick.

“Don’t I get any sugar?” she asked.

Andrew rolled his eyes and held an arm out. Robin ran forward and was sandwiched between them.

“Ew, you smell,” she said, wrinkling her nose. Neil burst out laughing. The other Foxes on the court came and hugged them too, but Kevin abstained in favor of making a wall so Andrew had a way out. He liked this, liked the family he had made. The holidays had been feeling bleak, but they made him feel at home.

v. 2014

Neil Josten was twenty six years old and playing for the US Olympic team and the Seattle team beside Andrew. Robin had already gotten offers from them in her fifth year. Unlike the last two years, she passed up their offer to go to Washington and spent the break with her parents instead.

Seattle was snowy but less dull than Chicago had been. Andrew had lunch with his press manager, so Neil went for a run. He came back and got out of the shower only ten minutes before Andrew’s car rolled up. It was snowing and creating a picturesque holiday scene.

He had hot chocolate and tea made for them--his nutritionist was getting on him about drinking so much caffeine--by the time the door opened. The suite was big enough that he couldn’t see the door from the kitchen.

“Took a little longer than expected, huh?” he asked. Andrew turned the corner looking pissed and dripping wet. He was hugging something close under his coat, right on his chest.

“There’s a situation.” Neil raised an eyebrow before he saw Andrew pull a kitten out of his coat, looking only a couple months old and damp. He set it on the counter and stripped his coat, not paying attention to the look on Neil’s face or how he scooped it up and slipped it under his sweater.

Andrew vanished for a second, coming back with a fluffy towel and some thinner ones. He put them on the counter and let Neil figure it out as he left for another minute. He fumbled to get the little thing wrapped up, listening to it mewl, only looking up when Andrew put a cardboard box on the counter and began lining it with the towels.

“We have to take it to a vet,” Neil said.

“We can Google things.”

Neil rolled his eyes. “We need to get it tested and shit, make sure it won’t drop dead on us.”

Andrew paused for a second. “You assume we’re keeping it?”

Narrowing his eyes, he said, “Were you planning on not?”

He stayed silent for half a second before regaling Neil with the tale of how he saw it on the side of the road in the snow. He looked around with it in his coat for half an hour and couldn’t find any siblings or mother, so he drove home with it.

“All that, and you wouldn’t want to keep it?”

“Cats are almost as much work as you.”

Neil stuck his tongue out and put the kitten into the viable nest Andrew had made for it. He filled a little dish with water and stuck that in there too. It immediately started drinking, even if it seemed hard on walking.

When Andrew left to get properly warm, Neil looked up a vet with good reviews. He found one in uptown with a high enough rating and called to see if they had openings. The receptionist started drawing on about how they took some walk-ins and they didn’t have a packed schedule and if he wanted to come in that would be fine. He said he would be in soon and thanked her, hanging up as soon as he could.

Andrew walked out in different jeans and a fresh shirt. Neil looked down to the box. “We’ll go now if you don’t have any other plans,” he said.

Andrew nodded. He took the kitten out and handed it to Neil, who put it neatly into his sweater, and took the box out to the car. Neil pet the kitten’s head during the whole drive and cooed at it, to Andrew’s disgust.

They went home knowing it was okay if slightly malnourished and probably, eighty percent chance, a boy. They were given instructions on feeding and general care. Neil checked the pet policy on their building and promptly convinced Andrew to keep it.

Maybe, when they found another, hairless cat outside the court, they took that one in too. Maybe Andrew half-joked that it was ugly just like Neil. Maybe they ended up with two cats the day before Christmas and spent the holiday curled up with them. Maybe Neil was going to be alright. Maybe Andrew was the reason that every Christmas was good.